The Rig

by Joe Ducie

  Elias’ eyes widened and he made a sound of strangled surprise. Drake pointed his rifle at the doctor. ‘Don’t you dare,’ he snarled. ‘Move back.’

  ‘What on earth are you doing down here?’ Elias said, as Drake forced him across the lab towards the bee cages. ‘This area is off limits, you know. And you’re not supposed to be out of bed after lights –’

  ‘Save it, Doc. I know what’s going on down here. What you’ve been doing. Sit on that chair there.’

  Doctor Elias raised his hands and sat. Drake scanned the lab, looking for options. He and Elias were alone, save for a few bees buzzing around in a glass cage.

  ‘Do you know what kind of trouble you’re in, son?’ Elias snapped, cutting his hand down through the air. ‘This is a classified –’

  ‘The kids that died?’ Drake asked. ‘From the Crystal-X. What did you do with their bodies?’

  Elias’ face went still. ‘I’m not sure what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. I was here the night you showed Whitmore the footage, I was here the next night – I spoke to Carl Anderson! I know what’s happening to Alan Grey!’

  Elias sighed and removed his glasses from his face. He rubbed his eyes. ‘You don’t understand what we’re doing down here. The advances we’re making. The millions of lives we’ll save harnessing the power in the mineral.’

  ‘You’re killing people!’

  ‘Nothing great can be achieved without sacrifice!’ Elias shouted, and Drake’s finger twitched on the rifle’s trigger. ‘The greater good demands –’

  ‘The greater good? There is nothing great about what you’re doing, you sick bastard!’

  ‘My wife was dying and my research healed her! I don’t expect a criminal like you to understand what it means to care for someone other than yourself, but –’

  Drake slammed the butt of the rifle into Elias’ face, thinking of Lambros, of Anderson, of all the others this man had ruined. Elias spun in his chair, mouth bloodied, as the roller door at the back of the lab began to open.

  Three men in lab coats, technicians, walked into the lab and stopped in surprise, taking in the scene before them.

  ‘Now, why don’t you put the gun down, son,’ Elias said, gesturing to his staff. ‘There’s no way out of here. We’ll get the guards to take you back to your cell –’

  Yeah, via the shark tank, Drake was sure, and pulled the trigger on the rifle.

  A dart shot out of the barrel and stuck Doctor Elias in the neck. He gasped, bucked in the chair, and slumped to the floor unconscious. Drake swung the rifle over to the three technicians and opened fire. Two of the men collapsed, darts sticking from their chests. The third turned to run, back through the roller doors. Drake gave chase and, given the small distance, managed to shoot him in the back. He stumbled forwards onto his face.

  On the other side of the roller door, he found the control panel and lowered the door back down, sealing away the lab.

  Now what?

  The technicians and Elias would be found and the alarm would be raised all too soon. Drake would be trapped and hunted down, and Irene and Tristan would be stuck aboard the Titan without him, unable to escape the container.

  Best laid plans, Drake thought, tapping the barrel of the rifle against his palm. I need a distraction.

  He was back in the part of the facility with the yellow pipes overhead, dark and dank, leaking seawater into puddles on the concrete floors. An idea occurred to Drake – another wonderful, terrible idea on the webbed path to escape.

  He worried – a vague sort of worry – if this idea would get him killed.

  Drake ran down the corridor, following the pipes, and ran into the smell of the animal testing room. The air stank of sweat, of decay, and a cold, dark laughter rang through the room and down Drake’s spine. He rounded the corner and found his terrible idea.

  ‘You’re late,’ Anderson said, slumped against the bottom of his cage. His speech was slurred, muddy.

  ‘I’m here to get you out,’ Drake said.

  ‘Yes, I know.’ Anderson stood and stretched. ‘Go on then.’

  Drake hesitated. ‘What are you going to do if I open the lock?’

  Anderson grinned. Since the last time Drake had seen him, most of his teeth had fallen out. They were scattered along the bottom of his cage, along with clumps of his hair. ‘You know what I’m going to do.’ His crimson eyes flared. ‘Now hurry up or you won’t make it to the Titan in time.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  Anderson tapped his head. ‘You wouldn’t believe the things I know, Drake.’

  Drake took a deep breath and then began unlocking the cage. There were five locks, sliding bars of steel, to undo. He had to climb up on the base of the cage to get the top one. He leapt down once the bolt gave way and took a large step back as the glass door swung open.

  Anderson sniffed the air and hopped down out of his cage. He stank of hot, burning metal. The air hummed with static as he moved and cracked his neck.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t mention it.’

  Anderson chuckled. ‘You’ve got two minutes, William Drake. Starting from one minute ago.’

  Drake frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘Run!’ Anderson snarled, and bright arcs of smoky, luminescent light burst from his palms – light as red as blood.

  Drake ran.

  25

  Scores Settled

  He was halfway back to the freight elevator on the walkway above Elias’ laboratory when the first explosion rocked the entire facility and Drake stumbled and dropped his rifle.

  Oh, come on. ‘That wasn’t even half a minute, Anderson …’

  The technicians and lab assistants down below, having discovered Elias and the other unconscious men, reacted with screams and cries of surprise. Drake didn’t have the time or the desire to bother with them. He picked up his rifle, slung the strap over his shoulder, and kept on running. It’ll be okay – and Irene and Tristan will already be up top.

  Drake slid down the metal handrail on the stairs and ran up the corridor to the freight elevator. Every hurried step forced a shot of agony down his side, but time was short and getting shorter. He dashed past the large windows, paid no attention to the glowing crystal reefs and ridges, rounded the bend near the viewing platform he and Irene had hid in not too many weeks ago, and burst out into the facility’s entrance. Another explosion shuddered through the metal and stone, and Drake saw thin cracks spread through the plaster.

  Above, walkways snapped under the strain and a great cloud of stone and dust erupted through the high walls, raining down upon Drake.

  He’s going to bring it down! That was so absurd that Drake almost laughed. No, he’s going to drown the whole awful place. Best not be here when he does.

  He entered the straight arched tunnel that led to the freight elevator, bubbled glass overhead, and saw that spiderwebs of cracks were already splintering through the glass. Drops of freezing water slipped through the cracks and splashed on Drake’s head. The tunnel moaned, and Drake’s legs almost turned to jelly. He had seconds – less than seconds. Drake sprinted for the freight elevator, his bruised ribs on fire, and slammed his fist into the call button.

  If the elevator’s up top I’m done for.

  ‘Drake!’

  Drake glanced over his shoulder and saw Mohawk, his shaggy purple hair grown black at the roots and a snarl on his face, running down the tunnel towards him. His palms were ablaze with white light and bright red sparks seemed to be bleeding from his eyes.

  With his back against the elevator doors, Drake watched as the glass shattered and an ocean gushed into the tunnel, sweeping Mohawk away in less than a heartbeat. The doors pinged open and he slipped through the gap. Drake managed to hammer the button for the ride up as freezing water gushed through the open doors and slammed him against the back of the car.

  The doors closed against the cascade and the elevator began to rise, dragging a sodden a
nd shivering Drake with it towards the surface. The car rose quickly, the water draining through the holes in the steel floor, but he could hear it churning up through the shaft, chasing him up to the Rig.

  Drake stood as the elevator slowed and the doors slid open above the surface in the junkyard at the bottom of the eastern platform.

  Alan Grey stood waiting for the elevator, not two metres from Drake. They stared at each other in dumb surprise for a moment, the Arctic Ocean bubbling up just underfoot, then Grey’s eyes flashed red and Drake brought his rifle swinging up.

  He shot Grey once in the chest and the large bully went down with a grunt, as water began to pool in the car and spill out into the junkyard. Close one.

  Grey sat up and Drake screamed. He shot him again, but the massive boy ripped the dart from his neck and struggled to stand. He fell back, splashing about in the cold water.

  The Crystal-X is keeping him awake …

  Drake left Grey to it – he needed to reach the Titan, find Irene and Tristan, and get the hell away from this place once and for all.

  At this point, after all the days in Tubes and all the nights crawling about through vents, Drake knew the eastern platform like the back of his hand. He felt the floor shaking, violent vibrations shuddering through the metal walkways, and knew Anderson was still busy downstairs. Could he bring down the whole platform? He raced up towards the roof and the guard’s bridge to the southern platform.

  Every step was agony, pulling at his side, but there was no time to stop. He flew up stairs, leapt over pipes and through mazes of machinery, relying on his memory in the poor light. The morning was early, stars still sparkled indifferently overhead, but dawn wasn’t far away. If he wasn’t gone by then, he wouldn’t be going. It was as simple as that.

  Drake had to pause and catch his breath when he reached the bridged walkway to the southern platform, rifle at the ready. There were no guards this side, no one had been sent to investigate the disturbance below yet – it had only been a few minutes – but that was all about to change.

  He had a good view of the southern platform. The Seahawk was on the helipad and the floodlights from Control high above cast plenty of light on the work crew loading crates near the platform’s edge. The Titan’s crane was swinging over from the massive ship.

  Drake scanned the platform. It looked like Irene and Tristan’s container had already been loaded into the hold of the ship. In a roundabout way, they were exactly where Drake had hoped he’d be by now. Although not locked inside with no chance of escape.

  That’s no good at all.

  A tremendous shock rattled the eastern platform and Drake was knocked off his feet. Vicious vibrations tore through the steel and pipes beneath him. Drake gripped the railing as the sound of screeching metal sent his world spinning.

  A burst of foamy seawater exploded up like a giant geyser from below, enveloping the entire eastern platform. From his view up top, Drake’s eyes bulged as the swash was hurled past him, up into the sky, and then began to fall. A deluge of cold water rained down upon the platform and, to his mounting horror, the entire mass of steel, pipes and machinery began to tilt towards the water.

  The eastern platform was falling into the sea.

  Someone up in the control tower must have noticed, as a piercing emergency siren began to wail across the Rig – the call to evacuate. Red warning lights flared to life along the outside of the tower, signalling distress.

  Anderson, what did you do? Drake struggled to stand, clinging to his rifle and the railing. The walkway to the southern platform was still there, but buckling under the strain of the entire eastern section of the Rig, trying to tear itself free. He did exactly what you wanted him to do …

  ‘Drake!’ Emerging from the innards of the failing platform, Alan Grey glared at Drake, soaking wet. The twin darts Drake had pumped into him were gone, and the red light shining from his eyes was near blinding.

  ‘Hello, Alan.’

  Drake shot him again – in the leg, this time. Grey fell to one knee, howling. Drake took to his heels and dashed out onto the buckling, screaming walkway to the southern platform. He ran as fast as he could, keeping to the centre of the twisting bridge. One good jerk, if the eastern platform moved another few centimetres, would fling him into the sea. He chanced a look over his shoulder and saw that the eastern half of the bridge had broken away from the platform.

  The bolts and rigging holding the walkway to the structure weren’t enough to keep it alive. Drake jumped the last two metres, landing just on the edge of the southern platform as the bridge fell away, clattering down towards the sea.

  Drake looked back, breathing hard, at Grey, clinging to the handrail as the bridge struck the churning water far below. They were separated by about thirty metres of open air. Smiling, Drake offered him a quick one-fingered salute.

  Grey took a large step back and then ran towards the edge of the platform.

  He can’t be seri—

  Drake watched, not quite willing to believe what he was seeing, as Grey leapt off the edge of the eastern platform, arms outstretched, and hurled himself through the air towards Drake and the southern platform. Nothing but red madness shone in his eyes. Powerful madness.

  Grey’s leap was impossible, but he was doing it nonetheless. He flew six metres up into the air and was almost halfway across the gap between platforms before Drake came to a swift and terrible realisation.

  Blimey, he’s going to make it!

  Taking two large steps back, Drake swung his rifle up once again, took careful aim, and fired – which is to say, he sprayed the air in the general direction of Grey and prayed to whatever gods were listening that something struck the magical psychopath.

  The eastern platform sunk further towards the sea behind Grey as he flew across the gap, screaming and wailing and gnashing his teeth. His hands opened and closed out in front of him, as if he already had them wrapped around Drake’s throat.

  Drake kept falling back towards the Seahawk and turned to run as Grey struck the platform. He took two massive lunges forward, then his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he tumbled to the ground. Three darts stuck out of his chest. Grey went down for the count a second time, groaning and foaming at the mouth. He won’t be down for long …

  Still, Drake breathed a sigh of relief. He’d bought himself more time, at least five seconds, and there was a lot you could do in five seconds. He looked beyond the Seahawk and saw crew from the Titan lashing netting around the crates to be loaded onto the ship. The crane’s hook swung in the wind, over the platform, ready for the cargo.

  ‘Drake? What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

  Drake snapped his head to the right, towards Processing. Marcus Brand stood across the platform, a dumbfounded expression on his face. Drake recovered quickly and reached for his rifle. The tiny dart flew swift and true, striking Brand in the chest. The impact knocked the guard back a step, but that was all it did. The dart bounced off his chest, having failed to pierce his armour.

  Brand grinned. ‘Nice shot.’

  Drake fired again and was rewarded with an empty click. The clip of darts had finally run dry.

  He turned and fled, disappearing behind the bulk of the Seahawk as a spray of darts erupted from Brand’s rifle. Drake heard them zipping past his head and pinging off the chopper. He kept the chopper between himself and Brand, as sirens wailed and more of the eastern platform fell into the sea. It was on its last legs now – literally – leaning at an angle that would soon send it crashing over, top heavy.

  Drake was out of ideas and ammo. He shivered in the cool night air, his jumpsuit soaked through and clinging to his skin like a suit of ice. Through the open hold in the chopper he glimpsed Brand reloading, a grim smile on his face.

  Still enjoying his job … Drake thought. ‘Hey, Brand, can I ask you a question?’

  Brand laughed. ‘Shoot. No, wait, I’ll shoot.’

  High-pressure darts bounced off the floor of the S
eahawk’s hold, flicking over Drake’s head. He laughed himself.

  ‘Sod you, then!’ Drake shouted. ‘I’m checking out of this hotel, mate. The bed was lumpy and the staff incompetent. Not once did I find a mint on my pillow!’

  ‘I’ll have a word with housekeeping,’ Brand snarled, and stepped into the hold of the Seahawk.

  Drake rolled away and gained his feet. He had only seconds before Brand made it across the hold and levelled his rifle against his back. At a dead sprint, straining against the burning pain in his side which forced tears from his eyes, Drake dashed across the helipad – straight towards the crates just being lifted from the platform by the Titan’s crane.

  More darts whizzed past his head, striking two of the crew that had attached the load to the crane. They slumped, unconscious before they hit the concrete.

  The crane swung the crates out over the edge of the platform and Drake knew this was it – his last chance. Do or die, he thought.

  You can’t fly out of here, you know, Doctor Lambros whispered.

  Actually, Drake thought he could.

  He put on a final burst of speed and leapt off the edge of the platform, arms outstretched, reaching for the netting securing the crates to the crane’s hook. For a split-second he was tethered to nothing but the open air. Dark, unforgiving ocean churned dozens of metres below. Sure death if he missed …

  The moment he leapt was the exact moment the final pillars and supports of the eastern platform collapsed and the massive structure plunged into the sea. The platform fell screaming, and a thunderous spray of water was sent shooting into the sky, accompanied by a tremendous and hellish boom. Massive waves rippled out from the impact, rocking the Titan where it floated and sending the crane swaying.

  Drake snatched the webbing surrounding the crates with a triumphant cry and dangled back and forth, his arms burning, a good sixty metres above the water, as the crane swung around over the Titan. The burst of air and water from the eastern platform’s ultimate collapse rattled the teeth in his head, but he held on grimly. A wave at least five metres high rocked the southern platform as the evacuation sirens wailed. Brand was thrown from his feet, much to Drake’s satisfaction.